


The Barber of Bushwick

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, Fluff, Hair Washing, Haircuts, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for sunshunes' birthday</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Barber of Bushwick

“ _Pronto a far tutto,_

_La notte e il giorno_

_Sempre d'intorno in_ –… Welcome!”

Blaine smiles as he enters his hairdresser’s salon.

As usual, Rossini’s music plays around the room, but this time around, he is pleasantly surprised to hear the score supported by a clear tenor–verging on countertenor actually–that belongs to someone he has never seen before.

“Hello,” he says to the man who stopped singing to address him. “Blaine Anderson, I have an appointment with Santana?”

The man’s face–angles and curves that look like they came out of an Art history book–shifts ever so slightly.

To wince or to smile even wider, it’s a fleeting this for sure.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Beautiful Barber replies (Blaine likes alliteration, so sue him), “but Santana has not been able to come today.”

“Oh,” Blaine replies, a bit disappointed not to be able to see his favorite hairdresser. Santana may be harsh sometimes, particularly when she tells Blaine about the different customers who have entered her life (and sometimes, her bed) since the last time they saw each other, but it’s incredibly entertaining.

Blaine would never be able to be as mean as she is, but her vocabulary is colorful and it gives him the impression that he’s not a complete puppy.

“I guess I can reschedule,” Blaine adds with an apologetic smile.

“Or I could take care of you,” BB says before looking away. “I mean, yours is the scalp balance, slash, moisture treatment and trim, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Blaine replies, leaning against the counter–if only to give him some countenance while he peeks at the name embroidered in red on the breast pocket of the mint green shirt.

 _Kurt_.

Short, to the point, elegant.

It fits the hairdresser perfectly.

Except for the short part that is, because that man is down right climbable.

But Blaine knows how to behave himself, and he will absolutely not do something embarrassing like serenade Kurt after his scalp treatment.

Nope nope nope.

Even if Kurt’s hands on his shoulders as he helps Blaine into the silky robes before gesturing towards the shampoo seats feel strong and soft and Blaine could definitely get used to them.

—

Kurt is going to send a basket of chocolate and tequila, and chocolate-flavored tequila, and and and … and  _dildos_ to Santana for deciding not to show up today.

Because if that is her definition of a Cute Hobbit, then call him Tolkien and give him all the rings, because he’s signing up to ride to the … big … volcano … burning eye thingy.

Alright, maybe Kurt lost himself in the metaphor here, but the point remains.

_Look at that fine specimen sitting down in his chair._

From his feet–encased in cute boat shoes–to his hair–and what a head of hair, God, Kurt is going to love taking care of it–, this Mr. B. Anderson is delectable.

And bite-size too.

Kurt takes full advantage of the privacy of the little room they have to prepare the cream and balms to let a snigger out.

“Tilt your head just a little bit more,” he instructs, gently touching the side of his customer– _he’s your customer, Kurt, don’t you forget it_ –’s face to accompany him, heart jumping into his throat when he’s faced with the dark amber of his client’s eyes looking at him upside down. “How–how is the t-temperature? The water?” he stammers, trying as hard as he can to build a wall of professionalism between him and this man.

“It’s perfect,” Mr. Anderson replies softly, voice trailing into a hum of approval as he (finally) closes his eyes and leans into Kurt’s touch.

Kurt only lets the tip of his fingers into the man’s hair, removing the gel and watering it down, but he has to bite on his lower lip already. Free from the gel, the wet curls reveal their thick lushness.

There is reason why Kurt chose to be a hairdresser after all, and it’s not for the pleasure of making perms and odd color jobs.

He loves the feeling of soft hair under his fingers, and he loves even more knowing that his clients are relaxing because of him.

Pouring some neutral shampoo in his hand, he swiftly massages it into the mess of curls, digging to reach for the scalp and clean it quickly.

A louder humming noise comes from the man in the chair in waves, and Kurt smiles at it.

It’s just the first cleaning part, and his client is already verging on purring like a kitten.

God, he’s going to turn into a puddle of goo by the time Kurt is done with him.

And doesn’t that particular turn of phrase have multiple layers of meaning–not that Kurt would do anything … PG-rated to his client while in the salon.

Afterwards, though, that’s another story entirely.

The second shampoo goes pretty much the same way, but Kurt lets himself appreciate the way the curls wrap around his fingers like little algae.

And now for the moisturizing conditioner.

Once he has applied it to every end of every tuft of hair, Kurt presses his fingers into the scalp for a massage, as usual.

His fingers go from the man’s temples to the nape of his neck, drawing circles on the way and back around, but far from being monotonous, Kurt is mesmerized by it, by the feel of it.

He has taken care of many customers, and many with curly hair, but he has never felt like he was the one on the receiving end.

It’s like the curls are responding to his massage, not the man humming and purring in the chair, and are pressing against his fingers like teeny, tiny kittens–fitting, right?

So maybe he leaves the product on Mr. Anderson’s hair for a little bit longer than strictly necessary.

Maybe.

Can’t hurt, if he uses that gel on a daily basis.

“Mr. Anderson, can you lift your head just a …,” Kurt starts, his fingers curling around the base of the man’s skull to support it for rinsing, but there is apparently no need for it, the man’s eyes fluttering open as he straightens up.

“Blaine, please,” he replies, looking over his shoulder to smile at Kurt.

“Thank you, Blaine.”

Kurt likes the way that name tastes on his tongue.

It’s short and soft and old-fashioned–like a Sidecar cocktail, and like the man wearing it.

“Come with me,” Kurt adds, standing next to Blaine, and Blaine’s private smile doesn’t escape him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Blaine says, looking down as he follows Kurt to a chair in front of a mirror for his trim. “I just pictured you singing the song from Willy Wonka.”

For a second, Kurt doesn’t see how the train of thoughts took Blaine from what he said to Oompa-Loompas, and then he makes the connection.

Of course Blaine would refer to the first version of the movie, the actual musical version of Roald Dahl’s book.

Of fucking course he would be that charming.

“Well,” he says, taking a deep breath to keep himself from swooning, “we can definitely start with a spin,” he continues, making Blaine’s chair turn slowly, delighting in the giggle coming from the man, “but your haircut won’t be a world of pure imagination.”

Blaine’s beaming smile reflected in the mirror would be enough to make Kurt lose his focus entirely, and almost enough to make him forget his sense of proprieties to sit in Blaine’s lap to see if they could duet til the end of times.

 _Almost_.

But he’ll let himself wonder about what could have been and what should be later, when he’s alone.

For now, he has a haircut to take care of.

—

Deepest apologies to Santana, but this is heaven.

It’s like Kurt knows where to press and how to pull on his hair to make it obey his will–and Blaine would love to do the same.

Instead, he keeps humming “Pure Imagination” under his breath while Kurt snips and tucks and cuts away.

He feels lighter already, and reinvigorated too.

“Do you want me to style your hair?” Kurt asks sweetly, and Blaine looks at him through their reflections.

(Boy do they look good together)

“Yes please,” Blaine replies, if only to feel Kurt’s fingers in his hair once again.

Kurt lightly dries his hair–“Always keep the blower on cold, so your hair won’t frizz so much”–before taking a can of mousse.

Blaine raises one eyebrow at it, because he knows that most mousses don’t work shit to keep his curls in check, but Kurt puts his clean hand on Blaine’s shoulder.

“Trust me on this,” he says with a crooked smile, and Blaine feels like Princess Jasmine for a second.

He would definitely follow Kurt on a magic carpet ride.

Now, he doesn’t know quite what happens, because Kurt works so quickly, but the end result is …

Mind blowing.

Blaine needs to look at his reflection from all sides to believe it, and Kurt lightly laughs as he cleans his hands from the remaining product.

His hair is brushed away from his face, but it’s not weighed down with product–it’s only lightly contained, but Blaine has a feeling that even if New York’s Summer were to fall upon us in the next two minutes, it wouldn’t affect it.

“Happy?” Kurt asks, and Blaine stands up, eyes wide and unable to refrain from beaming.

“Delighted,” he replies, and the light blush that spreads on Kurt’s cheeks as he looks down with a small smile is too adorable to let this occasion pass him by. “But now that I have seen what my hair can look like, I won’t be able to go back to the way it was.”

Kurt nods. “For starters, you can buy the mousse,” he says, gesturing towards the shelves of products.

“But I won’t know how to use it,” Blaine says, voice turning slightly pleading as he approaches, and he has no qualms about turning on the puppy eyes.

Kurt’s smile turns into a seductive smirk. “I guess I could show you.”

“That’s going to be expensive, to keep on coming back here to let you play with my hair.”

“Indeed,” Kurt simply replies, typing on the computer in front of him.

Come on Anderson now or never.

“Unless …”

“Unless?”

Blaine leans against the counter, arms crossed on top of it. “Unless we find an amicable arrangement.”

“Do tell.”

“Now that I have this fresh new look,” Blaine says with a smile, “it would be a shame not to flaunt it a little.”

“Total shame.”

Kurt is leaning towards him, hands braced around the keyboard now.

“What if I were to ask you to accompany me on a night out?” Blaine asks, feeling like he just took a major leap.

“I would ask you if you plan on coming back here as a customer.”

“Maybe not as a customer,” Blaine says, voice dropping as he gets impossibly closer.

“Then I would say yes,” Kurt replies, his voice taking the same breathy quality as Blaine’s.

“Then I would take you on multiple dates,” Blaine continues–in for a penny …

“All so I would show you how to take care of your hair?” Kurt asks playfully. “Seems like a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe I don’t care that much about my hair.”

“Maybe you don’t. That’s a lot of maybes, though.”

“It is.”

“Maybe we should step away from this guessing.”

“And make it real?”

“And make it real.”

—

Kurt is not the least bit surprised to discover, four dates down the line, that Blaine likes to have his hair pulled while getting fucked.

He is surprised to discover that the only thing better than fucking Blaine is to have him pet his hair while they recover from that first shared orgasm.

But then again, Kurt has a hunch that he will never be not surprised by what Blaine can awake in his body.


End file.
